Kisses From Daddy
by I Bought Earrings on Sale
Summary: A look into the relationships between all of the preps and their fathers. Some good, some heart-breaking, some just plain weird and confusing.
1. Tad's Cake Hell

Sometimes, Tad got off lucky. His dad would be out cold from so much alcohol, or his dad wouldn't be home. Sometimes, Tad didn't get off with as much fortune. There were days when Christopher, Tad's father, would just want to bash his son's face in for no other reason, but to just have something live to hit.

There relationship was nowhere hear pleasant. Tad was never allowed to have control of his own, if Tad did try to keep some sort of control, Christopher just beat his son until he felt tired and crawled into his own bed, or couch, to sleep off the alcohol.

Today, though, was not a familiar situation.

Tad was enjoying tea prepared by his house keeper. He was rather restless, considering his father called him down, which usually only meant one thing. The strange part, though, was that Christopher's aura had definitely changed. He was smiling, sitting up with a rather arrogantly content look on his face. Tad wasn't completely fooled. He knew Christopher's hate for him wasn't caused by the alcohol. He knew his father just hated him in general. Something had to have been up.

"Tad?" Christopher eyed his son up and down, noticing the new pair of pants his son was wearing that his insufferable mother bought for him.

"Y-yes, father?" Tad straightened his back, making sure to sit up as straight as possible to not anger his father for slouching.

"How are you enjoying your tea, son?" Christopher's arrogant grin faded into a relaxed smirk. He set his teacup carefully on the tray set decoratively in front of him on the dining room table.

Tad looked into his cup, it was still 3-quarters full. Tad felt rather uneasy about the whole situation. "It's lovely, father."

"I'm glad you think so. It's imported, you know?" Christopher leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes as if he were thinking deeply. "So, tell me, son, how's school?"

Tad gripped onto the cup tightly to steady his trembling hands. His father was usually never this relaxed. Tad was convinced his father was up to something of some sorts. "It's good. I've been learning a lot of, uh, stuff."

"I was pleased to hear that you've been doing well, Tad. A very good image you're giving our family."

_Yeah, and you're the one ruining that image. _Tad thought bitterly. He frowned, using the teacup to hide his expression. "Why thank you, father."

Pleased with Tad's reply, Christopher's smile brightened. "Would you like anything to eat? I ordered some French cakes, and I must say, they are quite delectable."

Tad shook his head, finally setting the teacup down. "No thank you, sir."

Christopher's smirk vanished. "What? You don't want any of the _expensive_ and _amazing_ sweets that I ordered, just for _you?_"

Tad realized his mistake. "I change my mind, father. I would love some." He couldn't smell the alcohol on his father like he usually could. There were the occasions when Christopher was just so disenchanted by his son that he would just mes with him sadistically. Alcohol, after all, was Christopher's excuse to beat his son.

"Lovely, Tad. I'll ask Maria to bring them. Oh, Maria!" He called out loudly, his voice was somewhat giddy and exuberant. Tad knew nothing good was going to happen.

Maria appeared in her uniform, a fake smile plastered upon her tan face. Oh, how she hated Christopher Spencer. "Yes, sir?" Her accent was thick, but she spoke English slowly so everyone could understand her.

"Please fetch some of the new cakes that came in. Tad would _love_ to try them." Christopher crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knee. He was quite pleased with himself.

There were times when Maria felt more sorry for Tad than her own miserable, minimum-wage, self. She knew what went on, and she always wanted to help to poor boy, but she was under contract not to talk. "Yes, sir."

Christopher eyed her as she left to go into the kitchen which was on the other side of their large house.

"She should be fetching all of them. I do know how hungry you are, Tad."

Tad stopped himself from shivering in fear. He knew what was going to happen. It wasn't the first time Christopher decided to torture his son like that. "Why, yes, father. I'm starving. Thank you." The rules were simple. No talking back. No refusing the cakes. And, most importantly, no throwing up in the presence of his father.

Maria came back with a large platter with charming little cakes in neat rows. She set the platter down in front of Tad and left before she could see what poor Tad had to go through.

"Don't they look delicious, Tad?" Christopher asked.

Tad felt his heart pound in his chest. They _did_ look delicious. There was a whole selection of small cakes and pastries, probably filled with pudding and strawberry sauce, maybe some even made with alcohol. Some of them had bright little pieces of fruit sitting on the top, with some of the finest whips of every color surrounding the fruit decoratively.

"Well, go ahead, Tad. They're all for you." The smile on his face frightened Tad. He looked so satisfied with himself.

Without words, Tad picked up the first cake. It was cool to the touch. Very spongy, but none of it stuck to his fingers. It was a dark chocolate. He brought it to his mouth and took his first bite. The filling happened to be in layers. Chocolate, rice pudding and mango sauce. Soon went the second cake, and the third. It wasn't long before he already felt full.

Christopher seemed to notice his son's distress, and his smile became even brighter. "They're so good, huh? And, look, there are plenty there for you."

Tad nodded, not meeting his father's gaze. He picked up his fourth sweet and bit into it. He knew if he were to chew it too slow, he'd taste it more, and he'd feel even more full. He had to eat fast, yet politely, to not rouse his father's suspicion. There were things Tad knew that Christopher didn't, and Tad was thankful for that.

Tad was starting on his seventh cake. He was about halfway done. His stomach didn't feel like it was bursting, yet, but he knew it would. He ate at a very rhythmic pace with a song in his head to help keep that rhythm steady.

Eighth cake. His stomach was so full, his mouth was numb with all of the sugar. He felt disgusted with himself. He felt as if he couldn't move. Christopher seemed to sit up at the edge of his chair as he saw his son's pace slow down. He knew Tad was at his limit, but he also knew there were four more cakes left for Tad to eat.

"Wow, Tad. You must've been starving. There's only four cakes left!" Christopher marveled falsly.

Tad wanted to shoot his father the dirtiest of looks, but, no. He picked up his ninth cake. His chewing slowed even more. He had most of it stored in his cheeks while he was chewing so he couldn't taste the burn of the sugar.

It was in the middle of eating his tenth cake, he stopped. He held the small cake in between two fingers, and looked his father straight in the eyes with burning displeasure.

"I'm full," He mumbled, his vision now aiming at the platter with the two remaining cakes.

Christopher folded his arms. "Eat more. There's still plenty," he ordered coldly. His smile was gone.

Tad shook his head. "I can't."

"You will." Christopher stood up, and forced the half-eaten cake into Tad's mouth. "And you will eat all of them."

Tad's breathing was unsteady. He blinked back tears starting to come down and swallowed the forced-cake. He picked up the next one. To his relief, Christopher sat back down. Tad bit into it. He became overwhelmed with the situation. He had no control. He hated being powerless. He hung his head low, still chewing, as his tears spilled onto his LS pants, leaving little tear-stained spots.

"Sit up, Tad. Unless you want me to tie you the chair for you to sit up properly."

Tad picked his head up and sat up straight. He could feel his father's eyes on his tear-stained face, but he avoided his father's gaze. He hated when his father saw him cry. It was shameful.

Last cake. Tad was almost done. He swallowed the last bite quickly, overwhelmed with all extremes of his joy, shame and anger.

"Very good. Well, I have business to tend to. I'll get Maria to clean everything up. Good evening, Tad." Christopher left the room, pleasant smile plastered on his face. He felt so very satisfied with himself.

As soon as his father was gone, Tad placed his head on the table and sobbed into his own arms. He was so full, he couldn't think properly, he couldn't decide what emotion he was feeling.

"Hey, chico. What do I have to clean up?" Maria came in, almost startled by seeing Tad like that. She has seen him cry, but not like that. Not with chocolate smeared all over his lips, not loud, choking sobs. She placed a warm hand on Tad's shoulder and smiled at him with as much compassion as she could muster for a Spencer. Tad was the only one she could feel the littlest amount compassion towards in the Spencer household. He didn't deserve all the shit he went through.

Tad didn't answer. He kept sobbing into his own arms. He was so tired, so full, so angry, so happy. So...so overwhelmed.

"Alright, I see." She pulled Tad into an awkward hug and smoothed his hair out of his eyes, using a clean rag in her pocket to help clean the boy up. "You're fine now. He's going to Canada for a business trip for a week."

Tad sniffled. "Thank you, Maria."

A week of safety was nice, but sometimes Tad wished that his father would die on the plane ride, maybe some gruesome crash, so Tad would never have to see the man who haunted him all of his life ever again. But that was wishful thinking, Tad knew, because his father was indestructible.

--

(A/N)

Poor Tad.

Well, this is a multiple-chaptered story I'm working on. Tad's was done first because his was fun to write. By the way, the cakes are about the size of CDs, that's why Tad struggled with eating twelve of them. And he probably threw up later.

I'm kind of done with Derby's, but the problem is I don't think I wrote it very well, so I'm going to re-write it later on. I'm about halfway done with Gord's, and I just started Bif's, but there's still Chad's, Bryce's, Parker's, Pinky's, and, uh, I think that's it?


	2. Second Chance Giver, Bryce

Bryce didn't flinch as he heard the front door open and shut quietly. He didn't turn to face his father. He didn't even need to see that his father was drunk. He could smell it. He smelled of day-old sex, musk, cheap perfume and vodka.

"Eh, Bryce? That you?" Daniel stumbled in, and toppled onto the couch his son was sitting across from. "I'm drunk," he mumbled into the couch's soft cushion.

Bryce frowned at his father's pathetic form. He sat straight, arms folded neatly. "I'm very disappointed in you, father."

Daniel let a gruff noise escape. "Don't give me cheek, son. All of this stuff you see here could be squandered away in seconds! I still am the man of the house!"

_Yeah, because you're going to be the one to squander it all away, you jobless bum. _Bryce tapped a calm beat onto his arm, trying to find a more suitable reply for his father.

"Don't think I don't know what you're thinking, son. I know what you're thinking," Daniel growled angrily.

Bryce's expression didn't change. It's not as if he cared anymore. They were already poor, in dept, pathetic, and that was that. There was nothing Bryce could do about it.

"Don't look at me like that, Bryce. I'm sorry, okay?" A muffled groan was stuck in Daniel's throat. "Ugh, this headache is killin' me."

"While you were out 'Taking care of business', Mummy went to Grandmummy's house. She'll be staying there for a while," Bryce informed his father reluctantly. "She said she might not be coming back."

Daniel erupted into roaring laughter. He slammed his fist hard against the armchair of the sofa. "That shows you, huh, Bryce? Women are nothing but trouble! You give her the world, and once things get rocky, she packs her bags and leaves!" He tried sitting up straight, but slumped heavily. He put a pillow on his stomach to help the pain from all of the alcohol. "It's just you and me now, Bryce. You're the only family I have now." Daniel's once handsome face became heartbreakingly serious. His frown lines were so deep, cheeks reddened from the alcohol. Even the scruff of his beard had been graying out, along with his light brown hair.

Bryce gulped audibly. He didn't meet his father's gaze. He looked down at his slippers guiltily. "Sh-she and Grandmummy offered that I stay with them, Dad."

Daniel's breathing slowed. "Oh." He brought the couch's matching pillow up to his face. It was hard to hear, but Bryce was able to make out a muffled cry of, "I'm such an idiot!". Bryce couldn't stand seeing his father like that, no matter how much he could hate his father, he knew his father needed him.

"But I'm going to call them and tell them that I'm staying here." That wasn't Bryce's original decision. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave more than anything. At least, _almost_ more than anything. Yes, he just pulled that decision out of his ass with the hope of finally being able to change his father for the better. "But if I'm to stay, we're living under _my_ rules, Dad."

The pillow dropped to the floor with a quiet plop. Tears were streaming down Daniel's face, but he was grinning ear-to-ear shamelessly. "Anything, son."

To each rule Bryce explained, his father kept nodding as if he actually listened, as if he actually cared. It gave Bryce actual hope that things would finally be better for the both of them. It almost made Bryce feel as if he could finally trust his father.

--

A week had passed, and Bryce's father had shown progress. He stopped drinking for an entire six days, and now he helped his father get back to working. It was slightly unusual, though, how late his father was that current day. He had been home on time the previous days. It was also even more unusual how his father didn't even bother to contact him.

Bryce, waiting on the couch patiently, thought back to the heartbreaking phone call with his mother.

"_Bryce! Please stop this nonsense about trying to help him! You want to go to college, don't you? Please, just live with me and your grandmother!" His mother had begged, obvious tears being shed over the phone._

_Bryce sighed painfully. "But, Mummy, he seems like he really wants to change."_

"_No, Bryce. He's not the man I married. He doesn't have any shred of his old life in him anymore, Bryce! He's hopeless, son, hopeless!"_

"_If you really loved him, you would try to help him!" Bryce hung up the phone angrily, making the loudest noise he could by slamming the phone hard onto the receiver. He felt the regret of what he just did wash over him instantly, but pushed it out of his thoughts. His father was going to change._

Bryce fell asleep on that couch waiting for his father.

--

Bryce's eyes shot open as he heard that door slam at some dark hour. He sat up, blinked, and tried to search for whoever was in the house, but not even the moonlight was strong enough to help him. He remembered it had been raining earlier, and that the clouds were thick. And then he smelled it; The musk, the sex, the bargain perfume, and, this time, whiskey, instead of the usual vodka.

"Bryce, Bryce, I'm so sorry!" His father flicked on the light and got onto his knees in front of his son. His hands were folded pleadingly, his eyes like a sick puppy's. Tears were streaming from his eyes. "Forgive me."

Bryce felt as if he were going to puke. He frowned at his father, feeling the regret wash over him. He was going to give Mummy another call, perhaps requesting his car. "I gave you a second chance, Dad." Bryce pushed his father gently out of the way and began heading up the large and lavish staircase. "I'm packing my bags."

"No, Bryce! Please!" His father tried to run, but stumbled, and fell right on his stomach. He had knocked a small table over, making an expensive lamp shatter. Daniel exploded into sobs.

Bryce took one last glance at his pathetic father's form before he went into his room and locked the door. His mother was right. His father wasn't going to change. At least Bryce still had options.

--

(A/N): Major shout out to my BFF Cinder for the support, innuendo, and over all awesomeness. ;D

This one's rather short, but Bryce's just felt right. I didn't have to force anything when writing this, it all just came to me. :B

Still struggling on Derby's. I'm going to have to take time to work on his dad because I can never seem to get his dad how I pictured him to be.


	3. Bif and Roger, Childish Boxers

Bif loved boxing with his dad. It was how they settled disputes, how they blew some extra energy off, or just a fun way for them to bond. It was, after all, Bif's dad who taught him everything he knew about boxing. As long as Bif could remember, there were many afternoons spent with Roger, Bif's father, teaching Bif the ropes of boxing. Boxing was a family tradition, dating back far in their family tree. Boxing was in the blood. Also, goofiness was, too.

Roger swung at his son, Bif ducked under it with ease, a cocky grin on his face. "C'mon, son, I've been the only one trying to hit you! You haven't even tried to take a shot on me, Bif!" Roger's reddish bearded grin exposed itself as soon as he saw an opening in his son's defense, punching his son in the cheek enough so it wouldn't hurt, but it made Bif's eyes widen in a sudden awareness that he shouldn't be so confident in just ducking and dodging.

"Dad, c'mon. Last time I accidentally broke your nose. You couldn't box for a long time, Dad! We don't want that to happen again!" Bif continued to dodge his father's many quick punches. He remembered how he was slightly taken aback at his father's sudden proposal of a match or two as soon as Bif got home from school that day. They had built a boxing rink in what used to be a study when Bif was only several months old. It was second nature for them to fit in that rink, but Bif was scared of hurting his father again. But he did admire his father's tall and confident stature, all revved and ready in his vibrant blue boxing uniform and reddish scruffy hair.

Roger clapped his gloves together in anticipation. "My nose is healed, Bif. C'mon! Take a swing. It's not like I'm an old man! I'm only 46!"

Bif sighed. There was no way Roger was going to let him back out of hitting him. Bif pulled his arm back, ready to swing. Quickly, his arm came down with Rodger quickly dodging it from the side, and punched Bif in the gut. Bif took several moments to catch his breath before he took a swipe at Roger, and ended up hitting his father hard in the shoulder.

"You've got to remember that your gut is a hard spot to block, Bif!" Roger reminded, quickly taking time to massage his suddenly hit shoulder with his bright red glove. "You're still a little sloppy with defense, but your punches seem to have gotten stronger and more controlled. Whoever you've been working, though, has shit defense."

Bif nodded, small smile on his face. "Got it, Dad!" The pain in his gut wasn't bad. His dad always took it easy on him, but Bif hated how he wasn't allowed to take it easy on his father.

Quickly, they got back into the game, both staring intensely at each other. Hit, after hit, after hit, after hit. They were getting increasingly tired until Roger declared the match as over due to both parties being completely exhausted and starving.

"Your punches really have improved since a few months ago, Bif. I'm proud of you, son. Who's been your opponent all this time? I'm almost jealous that someone has been replacing me." Roger gave his son a toothy grin as he slipped the gloves off of his hands.

Bif smirked at his father's remark. "No one can replace you, dad. Even if you had a clone, he can't replace you. You're you, after all, the one and only, the original." Bif put his gloves gently on his shelf, smiling up at his and all of his father's and grandfather's boxing trophies. "I don't know. I guess because I told Derby that I couldn't box with you 'cause of your nose, and none of the other guys are really a match, so he took me on for the times you were out." Bif's had a rather pleasant smile on his face, which Roger noticed.

Roger now had a thoughtful look on his face. His lips picked up at the sides, showing a thoughtful grin. "The Tremblay and Harrington chemistry is unprecedented, huh?"

"What are you talking about, dad?" Bif's voice became slightly shaky. His eyebrows were raised to create the impression as if he had no idea of what his father was talking about.

"I think you know, Bif." Roger winked, followed by a quiet laugh. "I know what's going on. You know, I've known Derby's dad since we were kids, too. We went through a similar thing, y'know? And so did your grandfather and Derby's grandfather. Most of us Tremblays had flings with Harringtons of the same sex." Roger flashed his son a reassuring grin.

Bif's cheeks reddened slightly. "Y'mean, me and Derby, it's, like, normal?" They made their way into the kitchen to grab a snack and something to drink. The house seemed fairly empty except for a cleaning lady or two passing by.

"Well, not normal in general, but for us Tremblays and the Harringtons, it's normal. Even with the girls, too. It's experimenting, kind of to break away from our limitations for a while, but we can't get involved with the whole marriage thing. It can't be anything more serious than an occasional fling." Roger raided his own fridge, scavenging for a satisfying pauper snack to feed his sudden craving. "Your mother, I'll tell you. I don't get why she's so against the occasional bag of Dorritos or hot wings. We're rich, but we're still human! I swear I've tried nearly every body part of a fish, already, yet your mother gets all irritated if I'm snacking on some Pringles."

Bif laughed loudly, agreeing with his father in his head. "Don't worry. There's a cupboard Mom never notices." Bif stepped around to a cupboard under the island counter. He pulled out a bag of barbecue-flavored chips and grinned. He opened the bag and poured the chips sloppily onto the counter. His wife wasn't home, it's not like he was going to receive crap for it.

"Son, did I tell you how proud of you I am? I don't think I say it enough, Bif."

"Proud enough to give me a raise in my allowance this week?" Bif suggested. He popped a chip into his mouth, practically wetting himself at the explosion of fake barbecue flavor in his mouth. "My bike needs a new paint job. Electric blue is the new baby blue, y'know?"

Roger burst out into a fit laughter. "All you had to do was ask, son. You didn't need to bribe me with potato chips." Roger, being taller than his son, was still able to ruffle up Bif's hair, and didn't hesitate in doing so.

"I know I didn't need to bribe you with potato chips. I just knew you wanted potato chips." As soon as Roger took his hands off of his head, Bif started to smooth out his own hair. "Nothing like Lays when you just came back from a broken nose."

Roger's deep brown eyes lit up with a bright grin on his face. "Sometimes the only thing that reminds me that you and your mother are remotely related is that you have her eyes and ears."

They shared a laugh. Bif knew that no amount of money in the world could replace his father, but he understood that even more clearly when he broke out the Pringles, and Roger pretended to be a duck with two of the crisps wedged between his lips, and their childish laughter could be heard ringing throughout the whole house.

--

(A/N):

I finished Bif's! Yay. :D

I completely re-wrote it from how it originally was, and I'm satisfied with the result. I'm actually extremely tired because I got a rough two hours of sleep, but my mind's still wide awake, and my fingers still work, so who's complaining? :D I really like the turnout. Hope you guys enjoyed it, too. ;)


	4. Chad's Dad Is Happy, Sad, Happy, Mad

Chad adjusted the bandages on his bruised hands. He hated having such a mean dog. Every time Chad tried to pet his dog he would get bitten. Chad never understood why the dog was so violent towards only him.

He had more things to think about, though. His father was finally coming home from a long business trip, and his family was to have dinner together for the first time in a long time. Although he was slightly excited to see his father again after a matter of weeks, he also felt slightly nervous. Chad's father always had a problem with mood swings. Although he appeared friendly, there were moments he'd be inexplicably angry, or terribly sad, and anything could trigger the extremes of those emotions in Dennis. Chad loved his father, despite the problems, and that wouldn't change, but recently with factors of age an stress Dennis' mood swings had noticeably worsened, and there were times when the family had broken down because of it. It wasn't that Chad was afraid for his own safety, but there was a time when Dennis swung into such a terrible depression that he was about to take all of the sleeping pills his doctor had prescribed him. Luckily, Chad's mother had caught Dennis in time.

Chad adjusted his tie and tried to make himself look as good as possible to keep his father's mood relaxed. His family had always contemplated sending Dennis into therapy, but they also had to keep up their reputation. A preppy family needing mental help? To them, it was ridiculous, and they usually pretended it wasn't much of a problem unless it got out of hand.

"Chad, honey, please come downstairs! Your father his finally home!" His mother, Laura, had called nervously. Chad let a final sigh escape as he raced down the stairs, readying himself for whatever Dennis had to dish out.

Laura had her husband wrapped in a tight hug. "Welcome home, Dennis." She placed a warm kiss on his cheek.

Dennis responded and wrapped his arms around her, sweeping her up and spinning her around showering her with kisses and compliments. "I missed you so much, Laura. You look so ravishing! Your hair looks so beautiful curled like that. Better than when you straighten it. I do miss your fro, though!" He joked, thinking back to when they met in the 70s. He put her back on the ground gently, smiling at her unbearably sweet giggle.

"Good evening, Dad," Chad greeted politely. He didn't want to stir too much excitement in his father. He wasn't a fan of being spun around much considering dizziness was Chad's enemy as a boxer.

A bright smile flashed at Chad. "It's good to see you, Chad." Dennis patted his son affectionately on the head. "What's for supper? I'm famished!"

Laura cleared her throat. "I had our cook prepare us lobster tonight for this occasion. I don't usually eat it, but I know how much you love lobster."

Dennis smiled warmly, entering a more calm mood. "Thank you for being so considerate, Laura. I love you both so much. My beautiful family."

Chad cleared his throat and grinned. "Why don't we go sit down and eat?" Chad had noticed how fast Dennis had calmed down. He knew that he and his mother had to be careful not to set off any bad moods in Dennis.

They took their places at the large dining table, decadent and expensive plates of food set in front of them. To a normal person, it would've been amazing to see, but to the Morris family it was nothing too special.

"Why, Laura, Chad, it looks lovely," Dennis marveled as he grabbed his spoon and got ready to dip it into his soup.

Laura put out a hand to stop her husband. "Honey, we have to say grace, first, remember?" She kept an earnest smile on her face, but her eyes still held nervousness. She knew that there was a chance she might have set off anger or sadness in her husband for making him feel stupid.

"Oh, Laura, you're right! I'm such an idiot! How could I ever forget something so important to our family, Laura? How? It's my fault, isn't it? It's because I don't spend enough time with you guys anymore!" He quickly reached for a napkin and dabbed at his eyes. "Chad, you must be so disappointed in me. You are definitely your mother's son, because you are not an idiot like I am, son. I-"

Chad reached out his hand and gently grabbed his father's wrist to make him stop. "Dad, that's not true and you know it. You're a great father and no idiot."

_Sniffle sniffle_. Dennis sniffled for a while until he burst out into tears and jumped out of his chair and tackled his son to the ground in a big hug. "You're the greatest son, ever! I couldn't have asked for more of a wonderful family! I love you guys so much! We should all just go to my next business trip together!"

Chad almost couldn't breathe he was being hugged so tightly. He would've returned the hug if Dennis' extreme fatherly hug wasn't crushing his arms. He could only grin, hoping to keep his father in a good mood. Dennis got off soon, though, and sat back in his chair, using the napkin again to dab at his eyes. Chad was grateful for the return of circulation in his arms.

"Um, Dennis, care to say grace since you haven't been here in a while?" Laura finally broke in awkwardly. She hoped she wasn't the next one to receive another hug like her poor son had received.

Dennis nodded and clasped his hands, placing his elbows on the table. He closed his eyes and everyone followed with the same pose. "Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful food we are about to eat. Also, thank you for returning me home to my beautiful family safely. Thank you for keeping me and Laura together for all of these years, and thank you for my son having good grades and his boxing skills improving." Tears of excessive joy were streaming down his dark cheeks. His deep brown eyes were slightly reddened from so much crying, but he wasn't even embarrassed to cry so much in front of his family or servants.

After Dennis was done with his sobbing, he started eating, Laura and Chad followed his lead. It was fairly quiet, except for the sound of silver spoons clinking against the soup bowls. Laura and Chad never properly got used to Dennis' overjoyed moments. He was to spontaneous compared to the rest of his family.

Things went on pretty well for them for a while. Dennis was enjoying his dinner quietly, while Laura and Chad shot each other slightly worried looks over the table. They didn't know what to expect next. Anything could trigger any emotion in Dennis.

In the middle of the dinner, Dennis had accidentally spilled ice water on his expensive casual pants.

"Dammit!" Dennis yelled. He banged his fists childishly against the table. "These pants were fucking new! I just bought them!" He took the glass that had the water that spilled on him and flung it across the room. The drinking glass shattered, sending little shards skidding across the floor.

"Honey, maybe you should just change your pants?" Laura suggested weakly.

Dennis shot her a dirty look. "This is _your_ fault, isn't it! You bought these faulty cups!" He made his way over to her. "Why are you so stupid, Laura? How can you buy such terrible low quality things! It's as if you're poor!"

"Dad! It's not her fault," Chad broke in, trying to reason with his father to calm down. "We all _agreed_ on this design, remember? Anyway, we're _rich_, you could always buy new pants."

Dennis blinked at his son than sighed deeply, and took his seat. He placed his head in his hands. "You're absolutely right, Chad. I'm sorry, Laura. I'm sorry to both of you. I can't control what I'm feeling and I'm sure it causes you both a lot of grief." He began sniffling. "I want to be happy when you guys are happy, but you guys aren't happy anymore are you?"

Neither Chad or Laura answered. They didn't know how to answer such a difficult question.

"I'm sorry. I'll leave if that's what you two want." He wiped away the tears still at his eyes, threatening to fall.

"I don't want you to leave, Dennis!" Chad could see that his mother was about to cry. It was like this often, not only during family dinners. Even over the phone, on vacation, watching television. It was unpredictable. "Dennis, me and Chad love you more than anything in the world. If you ever left us we would never forgive you!"

Chad nodded in agreement. "Who's going to come cheer me on when I become a professional boxer some day, Daddy? I'd never forgive you if you were to leave."

Dennis smiled weakly. "I love you guys so much, and that's me talking. I promise."

The dinner continued in silence. Chad had something bothering him, though. He heard of something similar to his dad's problem, but he couldn't find the word. One of his friend's used it once. He hated the name when he first heard it, and still hated the name once he remembered what it was. Bi-polar disorder. His dad didn't have a disorder, he tried to convince himself. They were preps, after all, and preps didn't get sick.

--

(A/N): SORRY. SORRY. SORRY. It's been forever since I've updated. I feel terrible. I meant to finish Chad's sooner, but I honestly had no inspiration or motivation to. D:

I love to think that Laura and Dennis sneaked out to disco clubs when they were first dating, even though their parents didn't allow them to because it was such a pauper thing to do. X3

I think I'm either going to work on Justin's or Gord's next. I probably won't update for a while, though. My updates will definitely be more unpredictable. D:


	5. Parker the Cowboy

Parker could hear his dad struggling downstairs, trying to prepare dinner for the first time in his life. So far, Parker was winning the bet thanks to Jimmy Hopkins teaching him how to perform everyday pauper tasks for a fee.

The bet was simple. If Parker did better as a pauper, he'd get the car of his choice. If his father, Nicholas, won, then he'd have to have an arranged marriage with his hideous cousin Beatrice. Parker was terribly eager to win.

"Parker! Call 911! The stove is on fire!" Nicholas was screaming from the floor down. "The fire might ruin the new tile! Hurry!"

Parker smiled, reassured now. There was no way he was going to lose.

--

For dinner that night, they had to settle going to a restaurant since they needed to buy a new stove.

"Dad, how did you set the stove on fire? You were making _salad_." Parker filled his wine glass with the imported French whine that sat, chilled, in the middle of the overly-tacky table of a rather B-rated restaurant.

Nicholas sighed, smoothing his black hair out, which was slightly tussled from the epidemic. "I put it in the oven, of course. How else would I cook the lettuce properly?"

Parker almost felt his wine come out of his nose after his father said that. "Dad, you don't cook salad!" Parker was laughing so hard his cheeks were hurting. His dad was hopeless. There was no way Parker would lose the bet. He was going to get his car. He was so sure of it.

"Oh." Nicholas cleared his throat. He felt stupid. Well, he _was_ stupid, but he never believed it himself. "How do you know that, might I ask, Parker?"

After a few deep breaths, Parker finally settled down. He wiped at his eyes, which were beginning to tear up from his insane fit of laughter, with his neatly folded Aquaberry handkerchief. "I use my interactions with paupers to my benefit, father. So, do I get my car?"

Nicholas sighed deeply. It looked like he had lost. He felt the despair of loss setting in. Oh, how he despised losing. He hated to admit it, but he was incredibly competitive. His eyes wandered up to a glittering little machine attached to a small television. His eyes trailed over to the small chalkboard next to it, reading the words on it carefully. His eyes lit up, now, with newfound hope. He had an idea that could possibly make him win the bet. "There's still one more test, Parker."

Parker's eyebrows came together in confusion. He didn't remember there being something else to prove. "What? One more? Seriously?"

His father nodded slowly, stroking his well-trimmed black beard with his thumb. "Karaoke. Paupers love that stuff because it's so tacky and tasteless." He pointed over to the machine sitting on the small stage. While Parker turned to look, Nicholas couldn't help but grin. He was sure he was going to be the victor, now. "They have an open mic tonight, so whoever gets the most applause and cheers out of the two of us wins."

Parker really didn't want to embarrass himself, but it looked like he had no choice. Parker wasn't a singer, but his dad was. Nicholas was one of the best tenors in a choir he had sang in when he was younger. There were still tapes of the performances he did in a box somewhere in his study. He remembered watching them as a child. Parker was tone deaf, though, more like his mother. The only way he could possibly win was with hilarity, and, suddenly, with the though of hilarity the perfect song came to mind.

"I'll go first, son. I already know what song I want to sing." Nicholas got up from his seat, pushing in his chair carefully. He strode confidently over to the stage, climbing up and standing next to the machine with a big grin on his face. Parker watched him fumble with the buttons and pick up the small silver microphone. The music started playing. Parker gulped hard. His father had chosen a good song. "Livin' On a Prayer" by Bon Jovi. Nicholas opened his mouth to sing, and everyone's eyes were on the handsome man who was singing like an angel in an average restaurant. It wasn't every day that people would get an intriguing show like that.

Parker gripped his wine glass tightly. His knuckles went white. He was going have to perform one hell of a hilarious performance if he wanted to have any chance of winning. His eyes wandered all over the room, until he spotted a rather fat man dawning a tacky cowboy hat on his big chubby head. It was perfect. He sneaked over to the man.

"Watta you want, kid?" The man asked harshly. He seemed to spit his liquor-traced saliva all over the place. He was gripping tightly onto a shot glass. Parker made a mental note to burn his clothes when he got home.

"I really admire your hat, and I'd like to buy it off of you. For a decent fee, of course." Parker almost felt his tongue fall off from complimenting the disgraceful thing on the fat man's head.

The man smiled a toothy grin. His teeth were more yellow than white. Parker nearly puked. "I'll give you this hat, here, for $20."

$20 was chump change to Parker. He forked it over gladly, taking the hat and rushing back over to his seat before his dad got back.

The song finally ended when Parker sat down. His dad bowed graciously to the enthusiastic applause that followed his performance. He strode back over, and sat next to Parker with a confident smile on his face. He knew he was going to win, now.

"You're up, son," Nicholas encouraged his son, practically pushing Parker out of his chair, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to seem like he knew he was going to win, even though he knew he was. He had heard Parker sing before, and it was dreadful. He felt like a genius at that moment for spotting the machine and getting the idea.

Parker nodded nervously. What he was about to do was going to be the most embarrassing several minutes of his life, but he really wanted that car. He gulped a loud gulp before he finally got out of the seat and walked to the machine.

"Sorry Parker," Nicholas mumbled into his wine glass, "Looks like I-"

When the music started, Parker placed a filthy-looking hat upon his head. He started humping the air to the beat. Already, people were more interested in Parker's actions than they were when Nicholas performed. His father stopped mid sentence at the spectacle.

Nicholas was speechless. "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" was blasting throughout the restaurant. Parker was imitating riding a horse while slurring the lyrics so badly, you could barely tell he was singing. It sounded more like shoutings of gibberish. Yet audience was eating it up, laughing and clapping along with the whole thing. Nicholas knew that he had lost at that moment..

When the performance was over, Parker took a bow and everyone was up on their feet giving him erupting applause and roaring cheers. Parker prayed that no one recorded the performance and slowly walked back to his seat, waving back to everyone trying to get his attention, and high-fiving people awkwardly on the way back.

"W-wow, Parker," was all Nicholas could mutter when his son took his seat.

"I want a Jaguar. In black. Leather seats." Parker poured himself another glass. It was going to take a lot of wine to forget the embarrassment he just went through, but he won. He'd get his car, wouldn't have to marry his ugly cousin, and he also beat his competitive dad.

Snickering with the small digital camera playing back the embarrassing footage, Gord Vendome was incredibly excited to upload the embarrassing tragedy onto Youtube.

--

(A/N)

Isn't Gord just deliciously devious?

Ahaha, I had so much fun writing this chapter. Writing Parker's cowboy antics made me laugh so hard.

If you've never listened to "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" by Big n Rich, go listen to it now. It's almost as bad as "LOL Smiley Face". Actually, listen to "LOL Smiley Face", too. Both of these songs are so terrible they're hilarious.


	6. Justin's Football Woes

Every time Justin had to walk through his living room, he always couldn't help but eye how the room was nearly completely adorned with football trophies, jerseys, helmets, signed balls, and all kinds of other memorabilia. His father, Daryl, was a football fanatic. Not only was he a fanatic, he was one of the very few 'prep-turned-jock' in Bullworth history, and he was also a playing legend at the small high school.

As soon as he saw Justin casually strolling by, he called Justin over. "Hey, Justin! Sit down here with me. It's an old Raiders game! Y'know, when they didn't completely suck!" He grabbed Justin roughly by the arm, completely oblivious that his grip and rather rude tugging was hurting his son.

Daryl had always wanted his son to play football. Unfortunately for him, Justin's body didn't cooperate when it came to football, thanks to inheriting his mother's genes. The best Justin could do was box, which he wasn't very good at. Just also seemed to excel at sports Daryl considered to be incredibly girlie. Water polo, for example, was a sport obsession of Justin's for three long shameful years in the family, but Daryl just couldn't say no to his son. He was grateful, at least, that Justin didn't turn out to be a nerd. Still, Daryl insisted on trying to instill the tradition into his son, even if many years of attempted brain-washing didn't get him his desired results.

"Look at their amazing defense!" Daryl raved, a manic grin consuming his overly botoxed face. Daryl perhaps was handsome over a decade ago, but now with the hair plugs, the botox, all the different plastic surgeries, it looked like he was some sort of Ken doll.

Justin nodded, watching with a slight grin on his face. Justin wasn't a big fan of the sport, but he did care more for the athletes playing. His dad had failed in instilling the ability to play football in him, yet the attempt made Justin find athletes, _especially_ football players, incredibly attractive.

Daryl turned to see Justin staring intently at the screen, glad that his son was really observing and enjoying the game (At least he liked to believe it was the game Justin was paying attention to.). An idea popped up in his head, along with another creepy-ass Ken-doll grin. He quickly took his son's head in a headlock, giving Justin a nearly painful noogie. "It's really nice out! I say we toss the old pig skin, Justin!" Daryl had piped up, finally releasing his son and defiantly posing dramatically.

Justin's eyes were still wandering on the athletes on screen, but he sighed and complied with his father. He didn't think the simple tossing of a football could mean any harm to him.

_Bam_! Justin was hit right in the face with the football. He saw little half-naked Teds circle around his vision instead of stars, which, at least, was the only pleasant thing about nearly being knocked unconscious. His nose began bleeding profusely, and he regained complete awareness when the blood began entering his mouth, overwhelming him with an incredibly unpleasant taste. He flipped himself over, hacking and spitting out the blood.

"Oh my God! Justin, I'm so sorry!" Daryl lent out a sympathetic hand to help his son up. "Aw, it's just a scratch. Nothing bad. Go long!"

As soon as Justin stood up, a searing pain took over his whole face, most of it centering on his nose. It felt as if his face was falling off.

Daryl guiltily dropped the ball, going over to his son who wasn't quite screaming, but he certainly wasn't silent about the pain.. "Oh, um, it looks like it's broken, ahahaha," He laughed nervously, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. "I'll, um, call the doctor to get here immediately."

The two entered inside, both, deciding to wait impatiently on the couch. Justin held an expensive Italian towel under his nose to help stop the bleeding.

It was awkwardly, and for Justin, painfully quiet for quite some time. The two sat next to each other without so much of an exchange of glances. Daryl was tapping a beat on the armchair on his side of the couch while Justin's eyes were beginning to water at the pain.

"Justin, hey, I'm sorry about the nose thing. Not even the nose thing, just, like, trying to get you into football so much. If I took it easier on you with the things you like to do, then I probably wouldn't have broken your nose," Daryl said apologetically, putting a hand on his son's shoulder.

Justin turned to his father, in a state somewhere between forgiveness, rage and incredible pain. He would've actually said something back if it didn't feel like someone decided to drive a truck over his nose. He winced in pain at his father, completely failing at trying to portray a forgiving stare back to the man.

Time had passed, as awkward as it was, and the finally doctor arrived with all of his medical equipment, fixing Justin's nose right up.

"I don't understand why you won't just come to the hospital, Mr. Vandervelde. Then Justin here would've had his nose patched up a lot earlier." The doctor said incredulously, shoving all of his equipment into his bag.

Daryl rolled his eyes and scoffed as he pulled out his check book. "Because there are also poor people who go to that hospital. I wouldn't want to expose my son to AIDS, or something." He handed the doctor the check, and the doctor only sighed, pitying the lack of knowledge that ran in the family. Justin, though, smiled at his father's comment. His dad was still as much of a jock as he was a prep, and Justin was grateful he could at least relate to his father on those terms.

--

(A/N):

I want half-naked Teds, too. -Insert sadface/jealousface-

How long as it been? Agh, don't kill me! I'll admit I'm a lazy fuck, and I just didn't feel like writing another chapter. Good thing I don't plan to go into writing professionally, eh? But I bet my humor is unappealing to all of you, and I'm sure you want to shoot me in the face.

I re-read older chapters, and I think I nearly cried at how much I sucked, haha. I know I've gotten better, but I also know in a few months I'll re-read this chapter, and will probably grimace and/or puke.


End file.
